The Faded Road
The steering wheel was cold under Elias Thorne’s palms, a specific, biting chill that seeped through the leather and settled into the bones of his wrists, a physical reminder of the twenty years he had spent gripping authority in the damp, grey sprawl of the Pacific Northwest. He drove Route 9 with the mechanical precision of a man who had long ago traded intuition for protocol, the tires...
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